Transcribed from the 1897 David Douglas edition by DavidPrice,
THE GAROTTERS
BY
WILLIAM D. HOWELLS
Author’s Edition
EDINBURGH
DAVID DOUGLAS, CASTLE STREET
1897
For leave to act, applyto the publisher
All rights reserved
Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable for
David Douglas
London:Simpkin, Marshalland Co.
PART FIRST
I
MRS. ROBERTS; THEN MR. ROBERTS
At the window of her apartment inHotel Bellingham, Mrs. Roberts stands looking out into the earlynightfall. A heavy snow is driving without, and from timeto time the rush of the wind and the sweep of the flakes againstthe panes are heard. At the sound of hurried steps in theanteroom, Mrs. Roberts turns from the window, and runs to theportière, through which she puts her head.
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Is that you,Edward? So dark here! We ought really to keep the gasturned up all the time.’
Mr. Roberts, in a muffled voice,from without: ‘Yes, it’s I.’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Well, hurry into the fire, do! Ugh, what a storm! Do you supposeanybody will come? You must be half frozen, you poorthing! Come quick, or you’ll certainlyperish!’ She flies from the portière tothe fire burning on the hearth, pokes it, flings on a log, jumpsback, brushes from her dress with a light shriek the sparksdriven out upon it, and continues talking incessantly in a voicelifted for her husband to hear in the anteroom. ‘IfI’d dreamed it was any such storm as this, I should neverhave let you go out in it in the world. It wasn’t atall necessary to have the flowers. I could have got onperfectly well, and I believe now the table would lookbetter without them. The chrysanthemums would have beenquite enough; and I know you’ve taken more cold. Icould tell it by your voice as soon as you spoke; and just asquick as they’re gone to-night I’m going to have youbathe your feet in mustard and hot water, and take eight ofaconite, and go straight to bed. And I don’t want youto eat very much at dinner, dear, and you must be sure not todrink any coffee, or the aconite won’t be of the leastuse.’ She turns and encounters her husband, whoenters through the portière, his face pale, hiseyes wild, his white necktie pulled out of knot, and his shirtfront rumpled. ‘Why, Edward, what in the world is thematter? What has happened?’
Roberts, sinking into a chair:‘Get me a glass of water,Agnes—wine—whisky—brandy—’
Mrs. Roberts, bustling wildlyabout: ‘Yes, yes. But what—Bella! Bridget! Maggy!—Oh, I’l